


(like a hero) in the half-light

by Edgebug



Series: Half-Light 'verse [1]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Arguably Sentient Elven Technomagic, Cuddling & Snuggling, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Insomnia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 09:57:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8707891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edgebug/pseuds/Edgebug
Summary: It's a slapdash cardboard tube patched with duct tape and made out of what looks like a leftover sugary cereal box. Either Robbie's got an emergency or he's sending him a letter bomb.(In which Robbie can't sleep, and Sportacus takes it upon himself to help. And help. And help. And help...)





	

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

His crystal snaps him awake at almost three in the morning, beeping and lighting up within its assembly. He blinks blearily, tries to focus on the image it's projecting into his mind's eye. The less severe the trouble someone's in, the more out-of-focus the image; this one is no exception.

Orange. That's all he sees; the color orange. "What on Earth," he murmurs, pulling himself out of bed and tugging on the clothes he'd discarded when he went to sleep. "You know, my crystalline friend, it wouldn't hurt to be a bit more precise, hm?"

The crystal can't help it, of course. It's an Elven empathy stone and it gauges danger through sensing nearby emotions; it then projects still images from the affected party's eyes to its user--in this case, Sportacus. Whoever's in trouble this time is seeing a lot of orange. The good news is, it's not any immediate danger.

He pulls on a coat--it's nippy downtown this time of year--before heading down his ladder and into the quiet neighborhood.

The empathy stone buzzes against his chest more the closer he gets to the troubled party--but again, this time it's such a small vibration that it's almost imperceptible. Sportacus picks through what feels like the entire town, watching for the color orange and feeling for a stronger buzz, but everyone seems to be happily asleep, and his crystal doesn't react.

"Everybody is fine," he murmurs, puzzled; the empathy stone sends him another flash of orange in response. "I've checked on almost everyone!"

Almost everyone. There's one person he hasn't checked up with.

What's Robbie gotten himself into this time?

Sportacus makes his way over to the cow billboard, ducks around it and easily swings the hatch to Robbie's home open. Sure enough, his crystal thrums more strongly. Sportacus sighs; nothing to do but climb in.

He's not even out of the tube, shimmying awkwardly into what passes for Robbie's living room, when he hears a sharp

"What are you doing?!"

He pulls himself completely out and straightens up. There Robbie is in his pajamas, in his chair--orange, of course--curled up and staring owlishly up at Sportacus.

"Sorry, ah--" He taps his empathy stone. "My crystal went off," he says. "You're in trouble."

"Your crystal's misfiring," Robbie says sharply. "Leave me alone. I'm _fine_. This is breaking and entering."

"I didn't break anything," Sportacus defends weakly.

"It's still illegal. Go away. I'm trying to sleep."

Sportacus blinks. "Have you slept yet tonight?"

"What business is that of yours?!"

"Robbie."

Robbie sighs raggedly and crosses his arms, shoulders hunched comically high. "No."

"How long has it been?"

He counts off on his fingers for a moment. "Almost forty-seven hours now," he says.

Sportacus winces. "Oh, Robbie, that's terrible."

"It's not that bad."

"It's bad enough that my crystal went off!"

"Whatever. So, as you can see, there's absolutely nothing you can do, and you should leave. At once. Go away." The protests are weaker now, though. Robbie's so tired that it almost hurts, Sportacus can see it, can feel the pain radiating off him; the circles beneath his eyes deeper and darker than usual, his voice quieter and slower than normal too.

"My crystal only goes off if I can help." Sportacus thinks for a second. "Have you tried counting sheep?"

" _Sportacus_ \--"

"Kidding! Kidding." Sportacus holds up both hands in a show of surrender before moving toward Robbie's fridge.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting you some warm milk." Sportacus pulls a half-gallon of milk from the fridge and fishes around in a cabinet for a mug.

"Chocolate milk?" Robbie asks hopefully.

"Absolutely not." He finds vanilla and honey in another cabinet, though, and does put a little with the milk just so Robbie will drink it at all.

Robbie nearly screeches when he gets near the microwave. " _Aaaaghdonttouchthat_! Flip the switch on the side first!"

"The switch?"

"Yes, the big one, that'll make it work like a normal microwave!"

Sportacus decides that sometimes it's better not to ask and just does as Robbie instructs, flipping the switch before letting the mug heat for 45 seconds or so. "Here," he says, and pushes the warm mug into Robbie's hands.

Robbie looks at it like he thinks it's probably poisoned.

"It's probably poisoned," says Robbie.

Sportacus nods. "Of course it is, absolutely. I carry a deadly neurotoxin with me everywhere for exactly this kind of opportunity," he says with as much sincere earnestness as he can muster.

Robbie actually gives a small snort of laughter at that and does take a sip. "Thanks," he mumbles. "Now you can go."

Robbie's pajamas are on, the room's cold but Sportacus has no idea how to fix that and at least he has his blanket and small blanket--a comfort item, Sportacus assumes--there shouldn't be any reason for his inability to sleep. But as he sits there, hunched up and shoulders almost to his ears, he looks markedly uncomfortable. Actually, he looks like he always does. Which is also 'uncomfortable.'

There's a lot of tension in those shoulders. Sportacus moves around to the back of Robbie's chair. "Are you leaving?" Robbie asks. "Finally. I--"

Robbie's words die in his throat the second Sportacus's hands touch his shoulders and the man tenses up even further, which Sportacus honestly hadn't thought was possible. "Good heavens, this is worse than I thought," Sportacus says, pressing his thumbs into the knotted muscle beneath his hands. "No wonder you cannot sleep, you're carrying so much tension you cannot possibly relax!"

"What--what are you doing," Robbie asks a little haltingly as Sportacus carefully works on him.

"Working out some of these knots--you're nothing _but_ knots, Robbie."

"Ow!" Robbie complains as Sportacus's hands find a particularly tense spot. He doesn't pull away, though, and slowly Sportacus rubs it into submission. "Why are you touching me?"

"Trust me. This will help."

He presses in with the heels of his palms and Robbie lets out a noise somewhere between a whimper and a purr. His mug sits forgotten on the side table; he presses back against Sportacus's hands like a cat. It's cute, and Sportacus holds back a laugh because he wouldn't want Robbie to think he was laughing at him; he settles instead for a grin. The knots in his shoulders seem to have loosened so he moves up to the back of Robbie's neck; the man hums softly and tips his head back against the chair.

He moves up Robbie's neck; Robbie's eyes are closed now, but his brow is still deeply furrowed, so Sportacus's hands move upward; his fingertips rub little circles into Robbie's temples, then over his brow, and finally Robbie seems genuinely relaxed--eyes closed, head resting on the back of the chair, his breathing slowing and evening out.

A little too even and deep, actually. Sportacus carefully draws his hands back; Robbie's completely asleep now. Success. His face is soft and slack, in a rare neutral expression; he nuzzles his cheek against the fluff of his chair and it occurs to Sportacus that the chair is another comfort item, the fuzz of it helping to calm him even in sleep.

A strange pang of something--longing?--hits him. Robbie looks soft and warm and surely the chair's big enough for both of them and it would be so easy for Sportacus to curl up beside him and go to sleep right there and--

No.

Sportacus turns out every light he can find and quietly, as quietly as he can, makes his way back up the ladder and back into the night air, trying to keep any inconvenient thoughts far away from his mind.

-

 

Robbie doesn't cause any trouble at all the entire next day. In fact, it's early the morning after _that_ \--five--when Sportacus sees him at all. He's perched on a fence eating a snack--honeydew today--when he senses Robbie nearby. Sure enough, within moments Robbie speaks to him. 

"I suppose I should say--thank you." The words stumble on their way out.

"Hm?"

"I slept for seven solid hours," Robbie says. "Do you realize how _unusual_ that is for me?"

"Last night?"

"No, the night before, when you...helped me. Thank you." Robbie shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. "Don't make me say it again."

Sportacus blinks. "Seven hours is a lot for you? How much do you normally sleep?"

"Uh." Robbie thinks for a moment. "Between thirty minutes and three hours, when I sleep."

Sportacus swears he can hear a record scratch. "Wait a second. Are there nights when you _don't_ _sleep_?!" He doesn't wait for Robbie to respond. "I _thought_ it was early for you to be awake! You haven't slept tonight, have you?!"

Robbie looks like a deer in the headlights. "Is this a trick question," he says, warily. 

"Oh, _Robbie_ \--"

"Anyhow, I don't know what you did, but I seem to owe it to you. Or whatever you must have probably drugged me with. So. Yes."

Robbie turns on his heel and takes almost two steps before Sportacus grasps his wrist. "Let me help you now."

"Now?"

"It's still the middle of the night by your schedule," Sportacus reasons. "Let me help you sleep."

Robbie's eyes widen, that deer-in-the-headlights look again. Sportacus's empathy stone flashes. An image of his own face pops into his head. What Robbie's seeing. "Someone's in trouble?" Robbie asks, almost hopefully. 

"Yep. You," Sportacus replies. "Lead the way."

"Your crystal is misfiring again," Robbie grumbles, "honestly. I'm not in any need."

"Very well," Sportacus says. "But if you ever need help, Robbie, I'm only a letter away."

"Hell will freeze over before I ask for your help, elf," Robbie snaps.

 

-

 

Sportacus can't get the idea of sleeping in the chair next to Robbie out of his head. He pulls his own blanket closer around himself and wonders if Robbie's sleeping tonight. He pictures Robbie alone and cold and sad and terribly awake in that huge empty bunker and something in his chest twists painfully. 

He could curl up next to him. Make him relax. Make him make those _noises_ again. Make him warm. Nose against the softness of his throat and--

On the side table, his empathy stone lights up and rings within its housing.

It's projecting into his head exactly what his own eyes are seeing.

Sportacus groans and shoves his face into his pillow. "I _know_ I'm in trouble," he groans. "No reason to give me such attitude."

The stone buzzes smugly for a second before going silent.

 

-

 

It's four days later when the airship's smooth AI voice wakes him up at almost midnight; he's been asleep for four hours now and it's tough to haul himself out of his bed--he's not used to having his sleep cycles interrupted--but he does get to his feet when the computer says "Letter incoming." 

Sure enough. A tube pops out of the small hatch in the airship's floor and Sportacus easily grabs it out of the air.

It's a slapdash cardboard tube patched with duct tape and made out of what looks like a leftover sugary cereal box. Either Robbie's got an emergency or he's sending him a letter bomb. He pops the tube open. "Lights," he says; the airship turns on the nearest lamp for him. "Hell's frozen. Sincerely, Robbie R.," Sportacus reads aloud to himself. "Oh dear."

Robbie's asking for his help in his own roundabout way. Sportacus doesn't even bother sending a letter back; there's no time to waste.

 

-

 

He makes it to Robbie's bunker in record time and finds that Robbie helpfully left it open for him. It's an easy climb down as before.

"If you're going to laugh or say that you were right and you win, please get it out of the way," Robbie snaps. He looks very small curled in his chair, refuses to make eye contact with Sportacus.

"I'm not going to laugh at you," Sportacus says softly. "There is no shame in asking for help, Robbie."

"Stop reminding me that I asked for your help," Robbie grumbles. "I already tried the warm milk. Nothing's helping."

His arms are crossed tight and his shoulders are hunched up and Sportacus sighs. All the work he did to work all those knots out has clearly been undone. "Where is your thermostat? It's cold in here. You'll sleep better if you're warm."

"I don't have a thermostat."

"What? What do you do in the winter?"

Robbie shrugs tightly. "Shovel the snow if it gets too deep."

Sportacus isn't sure if Robbie's joking or not but he's a little bit afraid to find out. "Well, all right," he says, circling around to the back of Robbie's chair again. "Try to relax, okay?"

"You're one to talk about relaxing, you can't even sit still," Robbie huffs. Sportacus laughs softly, hands finding Robbie's shoulders and carefully trying to ease the tension there.

"I can be still sometimes," Sportacus says.

"I've never seen such a thing--ow, ow," Robbie complains but again doesn't twist away. The "ow"s become "ah"s within a few moments; success. He moves up as before, up Robbie's neck, carding through his hair (soft, showered, endearingly unstyled) and fingertips lightly kneading at his scalp before moving to his temples, his brow. Robbie is lax and warm under his hands, finally, quiet and breathing evenly.

Gods, he should leave. Robbie's asleep and his job is finished and he should go back up to his airship and go to sleep himself, if he can, but oh, he doesn't want to. He pulls his hands away and takes a few steps back toward the hatch outside--and Robbie stirs. Just a little.

What if he wakes up while Sportacus isn't there? Sleep is so fragile for him, what if...better for Sportacus to be here in that case, right? The thought of leaving Robbie alone here in this huge cold bunker--when he asked for help--makes something inside Sportacus twist and feel like it's freezing.

But there's nowhere for Sportacus to sleep other than in the chair next to Robbie, and Robbie's boundaries have already been pushed with the touching and with asking Sportacus for help and Sportacus doesn't want to shatter them entirely and risk Robbie pushing him away even further than before, so he isn't going to sleep next to him, cuddled up to him, without even so much as asking.

Robbie looks so peaceful, though, and small, and calm, and--Sportacus shakes himself and opens the hatch door so he can get outside, and he's almost climbing in when his empathy stone starts blaring like a car alarm.

"Shh! Shh!" he tells it, ineffectually. It wails again and flashes him an image of, again, what his own two eyes are seeing. "Shush!"

"Sportacus?"

Oh, great, it woke Robbie up. "I'm sorry, Robbie," he says with a wince. "My crystal, ah..."

"Is someone in trouble?" Robbie's rubbing his eyes and yawning, voice raspy with sleep.

"Uh... no. It must be misfiring again," he says with an anxious laugh. "No worries. Go back to sleep."

Robbie looks like he's going to say something else for a moment but then closes his eyes and nuzzles his cheek back against the fur of his chair.

 

-

 

He shows up the next night without prompting, either by Robbie or by his crystal.

"You shouldn't have to do this every single night," Robbie grumbles. "It's not fair."

"It's my job to help those in need," Sportacus reminds him, "not to worry."

Robbie's asleep by 10 PM, and that's a hell of a victory.

 

-

 

The thing is, elves are creatures of schedule, and they have great control over when they fall asleep. Sportacus has been going to bed at 8:08 PM for going on forty years--9:08 during daylight savings, of course--and switching things up to be with Robbie at night has moved that bedtime forward by a good few hours.

It's been a week solid of this now, his time with Robbie becoming routine. Robbie's making sure there's enough warm honeyed milk for the both of them each night, and they sometimes talk for a while, and...

It's...nice.

Doesn't change the fact that his bedtime's still thrown off but his waking-up time hasn't shifted to compensate.

Stephanie lays a tiny hand on his shoulder one afternoon while he's watching over the kids as they play dodgeball. "Sportacus," she says, concern etched on her features, "are you okay?"

"Hm? Yes, of course, why do you ask?"

"You jogged here, instead of doing hand-springs the whole way. What's wrong?"

"Really, Stephanie, I'm fine."

They watch as Stingy gets creamed upside the head with the dodgeball and proceeds to throw a fit about it.

"Is it Robbie Rotten causing trouble again?" she asks, eyes narrowing.

"No, no--"

"I haven't seen him around much lately, is he planning something? Are you staying up late foiling his plans and--"

"Stephanie, no, it's not Robbie." He ruffles her hair. "Well, it sort of is, but--Robbie's not all bad, you know."

She wrinkles her nose. "Yeah, right."

"No, really!" He nudges her with his elbow. "He just doesn't sleep properly. He isn't evil, he's just cranky. You know how terrible and grumpy you feel if you don't sleep, right?"

"I guess," she says slowly.

"And now that he's sleeping better he's been less cranky."

Stephanie tilts her head and looks at Sportacus quizzically, gears clearly turning behind her eyes. "How come Robbie's sleeping so well all of a sudden?"

Shit. "Oh, uh," Sportacus says, "well, you know, people change, and--oh my, did you hear that? Someone's in trouble!"

"I didn't hear anything!" Stephanie calls after Sportacus, who's already flipping away at top speed.

 

-

 

"Sportakook!" Robbie greets excitedly the moment Sportacus shows up in his bunker. He shoves a small basket into Sportacus's hands. "Here!"

Sportacus blinks and looks down. "Apples?"

Robbie grins. "The shipment just came in today. Consider it payment for your continuing services."

"Shipment?" Sportacus laughs. "Robbie, you can get apples at the grocery store."

Robbie shakes his head fervently. "Taste one."

"Right now?"

"Right now!"

Sportacus picks up one of the five apples--a strangely familiar mottled pink and red--and bites into it, to humor Robbie, who watches intently. A unique, distinctive sour-sweetness washes over his tongue. Tears spring to his eyes; he inhales sharply, slowly chews and savors it. He hasn't tasted this for nigh on ten years and it brings him right back to his childhood in the North so long ago. "Robbie," he says once he finds words, incredulous, "how did you get your hands on Elven apples?"

Robbie shakes with excitement; the movement reminds Sportacus of a happy puppy. "So they taste right?"

"They're perfect," Sportacus says on a laugh, wiping his eyes, a little speechless, "Robbie, importing things from the Elven North is--very difficult, how did you--"

"I have my ways," says Robbie airily, and Sportacus thinks those ways might not be entirely legal, but he isn't going to complain.

Robbie Rotten had Elven apples specially imported for him. It's an incredibly thoughtful, meaningful gift; affection wells up in him like a thunderstorm, crashes against his ribs and makes his chest feel too small to hold it all. He wants to hug him, wants to _kiss_ him, but--Gods, the friendship they have is tenuous and he doesn't want to overstep Robbie's boundaries--

"Thank you, Robbie," Sportacus says with as much sincerity and solemnity as he can muster, "this is--the best gift I've ever been given. Thank you."

Robbie shakes his head. "Not a gift! Payment for services rendered."

"I don't need payment," Sportacus says, "we're friends, so this is a gift. But thank you."

A strange sort of puzzlement passes over Robbie's face, but he's still visibly pleased, and Sportacus wants to kiss his smiling mouth, it's so tempting, so--and his crystal goes off, again, because he's in trouble, and if he kissed Robbie he'd frighten him away forever.

"Another misfire?" Robbie asks. "It's been doing that a lot."

"Yes," Sportacus says weakly, "another misfire."

 

-

 

It's two nights later when Robbie asks him a question. "Why are you doing this?"

Sportacus hums and rubs his thumbs along the nape of Robbie's neck, fingers making little circles under his ears. "To help you sleep."

Robbie doesn't seem satisfied with the answer. "Why wouldn't you accept payment?"

"I'm not helping you to get paid," Sportacus says, "I'm helping you because I want to."

"But why? Why are you doing this?" Robbie pulls back and turns around in his chair to meet Sportacus's eyes. "You're forfeiting sleep of your own to help me and expecting nothing in return. Why would you do that? For me. Of all people." A pause. "I don't understand," he adds, quietly.

"It's because I care about you, Robbie," Sportacus says simply, but it's not the whole truth, not really, not when love and fondness and affection overwhelm his thoughts so badly that it sets off his empathy stone; it's not the whole truth, but it's part of it, and that'll have to do.

 

-

 

"Something's wrong with you," Stephanie says, arms crossed.

Sportacus blinks. He's gotten used to his new schedule now, so he's not sure what she's talking about. "What? No, nothing is wrong, Stephanie."

"Yes, there is," she says, shaking her head. "You're a million miles away."

"I'm right here!"

"I mean," she says, climbing up on her chair so she can tap Sportacus on the forehead, "here. You're here with your body but not with your brain." She looks genuinely concerned.

"You are very perceptive," Sportacus says with a smile, ruffling her hair affectionately. "Have you thought about working to help people when you grow up?"

"I've thought about it," she says, "but mostly right now I'm thinking about how you're avoiding my question. What's wrong?"

Sportacus sighs. _Crystal, of all the times I'm in trouble, you can't go off now?_ "It's difficult to explain," he says.

She cuts right to the chase. "It's Robbie Rotten," she says, her face hardening as she rolls up the sleeves of her coat unconsciously. "I'm gonna go give him a piece of my mind."

"No! No, Stephanie, he hasn't done anything wrong," Sportacus laughs, gently taking her shoulder to hold her back. "He's been nothing but wonderful."

"Wonderful?" she echoes, disbelieving. "Are we talking about the same Robbie? I mean," she adds, "he's good, but really, really, really, really deep down."  
  
_A spark of goodness inside him,_ Sportacus thinks _, and I've fallen in love with it._

"He has a good spirit," Sportacus says. "He's..."

He trails off when he sees the look on Stephanie's face; shock, her hand clapped over her mouth, then sudden understanding. 

"...Stephanie?"

"It's okay," she says after she recovers, laying her tiny hand over his, "I won't tell anyone." 

 

-

 

He dreams of being curled up tight with Robbie; their legs twined together, both warm and cozy under blankets, smiles and little laughs and kisses traded between them like whispered secrets held safe in the heated space between their bodies.

He wakes up alone and shivering in his empty airship, sterile and cold, hanging in the sky and far away from anyone. Far away from Robbie. As if on cue his empathy stone begins ringing, telling him he's in deep trouble.

"Shush, my friend," he murmurs sleepily, pulling the stone from its casing so he can run his fingers over its smooth surface, "stop teasing. You know that I can't do anything about this one."

It goes dim and silent but he can feel it thrumming unhappily when he closes it in his fingers and holds it against his heart.

 

-

 

It's 9 PM when Sportacus gets a letter. He catches it out of the air; a slipshod cardboard tube put together even more haphazardly than the last one, more duct tape than cardboard. He's not expecting a letter, so this is unusual, and he opens it without delay.

"'I will not be needing your help tonight,'" Sportacus reads under his breath, "'cordially, R.R.'" His blood feels like it's going cold in his veins. Why doesn't Robbie want him tonight? Did Sportacus do something wrong, upset him somehow? Is he perhaps sick? The letter offers no explanation and worry grips Sportacus like an iron vice.

He has to go see what's wrong and fix it if he can. He calls for the door and the ladder and is down on solid ground within ten seconds.

The cow billboard is in sight and in moments Sportacus is at the hatch into Robbie's bunker; he grabs and lifts and--it doesn't budge. Robbie's _locked_ it. Fear lances through Sportacus like an arrow to the heart. "Robbie!" he shouts, banging on the metal hatch and knowing damn well that it'll be rattling obnoxiously loud and echoing all the way down the metal pipes and into Robbie's living space. "Robbie!"

"What?!" Robbie's voice crackles from a speaker somewhere.

"Robbie, what's wrong? Are you ill?"

"Nothing's wrong! I'm fine! Go away!"

Sportacus gives a worried, frustrated noise. "Please, let me in! I just want to talk!"

"Sportaflop--"

"Robbie, what did I do?" he asks, frantically, panic clawing at him, "how can I fix it?"

"Damn it." He hears Robbie sigh, a rush of static. "You didn't do anything," he hears from the speaker, then he hears a click from the hatch--it's unlocked, and he flings it open without a second thought.

"Why did you lock me out?" is what he asks first, finding Robbie standing near his chair. "What did I--"

"You didn't do anything," Robbie says swiftly. "I just--think I don't...need your help anymore."

"What? Have you been able to sleep on your own?"

"I--no, but..."

Robbie's hiding something, and Sportacus's heart twists painfully. "Then why?"

"You shouldn't have to do this for me. You're wasting your time for no reason."

"It's my pleasure to help you," Sportacus says, "we've been through this."

"But--I--" Robbie begins pacing back and forth. "You don't understand! It's a--a self-preservation thing, all right?! I shouldn't have you around anymore!"

"Self-preservation--Robbie, you aren't making any sense!" He realizes that they're both almost shouting over the blare of his crystal; the stone is projecting images to Sportacus rapid-fire, first from Robbie's eyes and then his own, and it's disorienting in the worst way and giving him a damned headache and he's _losing_ Robbie, losing what little he has of him.

"Of course you don't," Robbie cries, hands thrown in the air as he skids to a stop in front of Sportacus, "of course you don't understand!"

"Then explain it! Make me understand!"

Robbie gives a noise somewhere between a frustrated growl and a whine of desperation and suddenly his hands are cradling Sportacus's jaw and his warm mouth is against Sportacus's and he's _kissing him_. It's a moment of sudden silence, his empathy stone instantly quieting; he's shocked stiff, and the kiss doesn't last long before Robbie's pulling away and stepping back.

_"That's why,"_ Robbie spits out the words like curses, filled with despair, unwilling to meet Sportacus's eyes. "How's _that_ for explanation, Sportaflop?"

Sportacus's heart feels like it's going to explode, like it's trying to crack his ribs right open. He moves without thinking, operating in relief and joy alone; he hops up on his tiptoes and wraps one hand around the back of Robbie's neck, pulls him down to kiss him. It's a better kiss this time, softer; Robbie's eyes widen before they close and he kisses back, slow; Sportacus can feel his shaky breath, can feel Robbie's hands alight, trembling, at the small of his back.

Love and fondness light him up fire-bright; he finds himself grinning into the kiss and pulls back when he has to breathe, bumping his forehead against Robbie's.

"Oh," Robbie says, grinning a little dazedly; Sportacus positively giggles and playfully pushes at Robbie's shoulders. With a surprised huff of breath Robbie falls back into his chair and immediately Sportacus is in his lap, knees at either side of Robbie just like he's thought about for so long. "Oh!" Robbie squeaks again, delighted, hands sneakily making their way up Sportacus's shirt as Sportacus kisses him again, once, twice, three times; lingering, slow, his own hands holding Robbie's neck and jaw.

Sportacus isn't usually fond of overt sweetness, but he thinks he can definitely get used to the taste of sugar on Robbie's lips and tongue, he chases it, drowns in it.

"How long?" Robbie gasps when Sportacus pulls away just so he can drop kisses from Robbie's ear down his neck.

"I realized it a few weeks ago," Sportacus explains, "but I think I've loved you since I met you."

Robbie shivers beneath him, rucking up his shirt further. "You love me?"

"Of course I do," Sportacus slots closer, reveling in this, in the closeness, in the fact that he's kissing and touching Robbie and Robbie isn't running away, is returning each affectionate gesture with one of his own.

"Me," Robbie murmurs, voice full of wonder and confusion, "you love _me_."

"You," Sportacus says again, hands moving to unfasten Robbie's pajamas, flattening his hands over Robbie's chest just to get more skin contact.

"I've always wanted to do this." Robbie reaches up to pull Sportacus's hat off his head; he tugs it off and tosses it on the ground. "Oh," Robbie breathes, one hand still sliding up Sportacus's shirt and the other reaching for one of his newly exposed ears. They're long and tapered like all elves, and Sportacus smiles at the look of surprise on Robbie's face.

"You knew I was an elf," he says, and gasps when Robbie's fingertips meet the sensitive inner shell.

"Yes, but it's different to see them up close," Robbie murmurs, looking enchanted. 

"In your lap, shirt almost off, and all you can talk about is my ears," Sportacus teases, "Robbie Rotten, an ear fetishist."

Robbie gives a huff of laughter and traces the whole triangle of his ear with his fingers; Sportacus hums softly, eyes fluttering shut. "They're sensitive," Robbie says, delighted, fascinated.

"A little," Sportacus severely understates. Robbie dips to feel the ridges inside and Sportacus melts against him, nuzzling leisurely against his throat, breathing in his sweet scent as Robbie slowly strokes his ears; both hands, now, one at each ear, fingertips running down the top edge over and over. It's comforting, and Sportacus feels a rumble low in his chest.

"Are you _purring?_ " Robbie asks incredulously.

"Oh? Yes."

"Elves," Robbie huffs, a smile in his voice; he continues stroking Sportacus's ears. It suddenly occurs to him that his empathy stone is blessedly quiet, that it _went_ blessedly quiet the moment Robbie kissed him. _Gods_. He starts laughing, face buried against Robbie's throat. "What is it? What?" Robbie asks, fingers stilling.

"My crystal wasn't misfiring," Sportacus manages between laughs, "I really could do something to get us out of trouble and didn't realize it."

"Are you saying," Robbie says slowly, "that it regarded being _lovesick_ and afraid of rejection as _danger?"_

"Yes! It has a rather wide definition of 'trouble.' And an attitude problem!"

"Your danger-sensing magic crystal was trying to make us admit we love each other?!"

"Yes! Ye--" Sportacus's heart beats harder; he pulls back to meet Robbie's eyes. "You love me?"

Robbie groans. "Of course I--Do you realize how many international laws I broke to get black-market Elven apples for you?"

Sportacus grins brightly and kisses him again, his former enemy, his friend, his Robbie. "So," he says, "does that mean I can stay over?"

Robbie smirks mischievously and paws at the side of his chair. "Let's see if this even still works," he says mostly to himself; he locates a lever and pulls it. The chair tips back and a footrest pops up; apparently it's a recliner, too. "A _ha!"_

They shift so they're lying down and facing one another; Robbie grabs his blanket from the floor and lays it over them both. The recliner really isn't big enough for two grown men, and they're jammed together--one of Sportacus's legs slotted neatly between Robbie's own--but it's comfortable and warm in the cold bunker and Sportacus thinks that even if they were in a king-sized bed in room with a thermostat, this is how they'd be sleeping anyway. Sportacus closes his eyes, absently running his hand over Robbie's back. The man's relaxed, muscles like liquid under his touch; Sportacus listens intently as Robbie's breathing slows down, evens out. Robbie holds him like a teddy bear even in sleep, and still nuzzles his cheek against the fuzz of his chair.

Sportacus sighs happily and nestles under Robbie's chin. For the first time, he doesn't have to leave.

 

-

 

Robbie sleeps for twelve solid hours.

Sportacus sleeps for twelve and a half.

**Author's Note:**

> listen. listen. this year has been Bad. if taking lazytown characters seriously gives me some giggles then So Be It  
> title from the song "hum along" by ludo
> 
> *jazzy saxophone solo* no one tells the mayor what to do


End file.
